


Kick Back

by leftfoottrapped (miikkaa_xx)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/leftfoottrapped
Summary: Tao is the son of a politician and loves to have fun. His next target is his new bodyguard Xiumin.





	Kick Back

**Author's Note:**

> written for prompt #198. I hope this is in any way satisfactory to OP. thank you to J for the encouragement.

-

Minseok is hired with a single warning: _the boy is trouble_. Considering Minseok’s extensive résumé in real-time warzones and a scattering of missions whose files are almost entirely blacked out due to confidentiality, Minseok has experience with trouble. He’d been approved almost immediately after two of his superiors have given him glowing references, plus his time overseas had lent him conversational multilingualism that would be ideal when it came to escorting a diplomat’s son around foreign locales. Minseok was the perfect bodyguard for any kind of _trouble_.

Except, Huang Zitao is a special kind of trouble. He’s rather mundane in that he sleeps all day and parties all night. The first few weeks of escorting Zitao around Macau had involved Zitao parking his overpriced car in designated no parking zones and getting ticketed and then ignoring the ticket in favour of his diplomatic immunity.

It’s a mild annoyance at best. Minseok remarks that he ought to be a little more thoughtful and Zitao, well:

‘But does it bother _you_?’

Minseok blinks, hands clasped behind his back. ‘Should it?’

Naturally, Zitao escalates. They go to Hong Kong. Zitao finds about the rich kids who street race their overpriced cars.

Zitao is a lucky little shit - narrowly dodges death at different points, while Minseok stands at attention amongst the bookies and the sycophants and the fans crowded near the finish line, watching on different dash cams and radio’d updates from the checkpoints. Zitao doesn’t win, obviously, but he comes in third through the combination of pricey engine and sheer adrenaline junkie.

When Zitao gets out of the car, Minseok grabs him by the back of his collar and slams him front-first against the side door, uncaring of the paint job. ‘Don’t do that again.’

Even with his cheek pressed against the hood of the car, Zitao looks back over his shoulder at Minseok, something like glee at the corner of his mouth. ‘Does _this_ bother you?’

‘You heard me, Zitao,’ says Minseok. ‘Don’t test me.’

Zitao grins with all his teeth.

The following week, political negotiations wrap up and Zitao’s father is sent back home to Beijing. His son and the bodyguard follow.

In Beijing, Zitao’s newest trouble of choice is clubbing. Compared to street racing, Minseok is fine with standing at attention in a loud club while Zitao parties behind him in the VIP section. The only real risk of death here was Zitao combining drugs with his booze - but Zitao doesn’t seem to care for the harder stuff.

And then - of course - Zitao starts to DJ at two in the morning. Minseok feels the faint trickles of annoyance as Zitao starts shouting into the microphone and making himself a target. It’s not as bad as the street racing where Zitao could actively drive himself off a bridge, but security isn’t as tight around the stage as it is around the VIPs where kids like Zitao like to party.

At least the set is only an hour and a half long and not very good, in Minseok’s opinion. The high of the night is finally wearing off on his charge, and Zitao is touchy and sweet and endearing as he stumbles from the stage back to his table.

Minseok decides enough and approaches, puts a hand on Zitao’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go home.’

Zitao tips his head onto Minseok’s arm, nuzzles his cheek as he looks up at him from beneath his lashes. ‘Together?’

The innuendo is obvious. ‘Only if you ask,’ says Minseok because he can’t help himself, really.

It’s the right response. Zitao perks up, his sleepy gaze turning bright and sharp at the invitation. ‘C’mon then, _dage_.’

Minseok drives Zitao home in his overpriced car while Zitao slides his palm over Minseok’s shoulder, his bicep. Feels the strength under the tailored black suit. It’s nearing five in the morning once they’re finally through the estate’s security and up the stairs to Zitao’s room. Zitao has not strayed more than a metre away from Minseok, seems to feed off of Minseok’s presence. _Wants_ him, obvious and greedy.

‘Off to bed, Zitao,’ says Minseok now, drawing away deliberately, just to see the reaction.

Zitao’s disappointment registers clearly over his expression. He’s been denied, _unfairly_.

Minseok expects a temper tantrum. He does not expect Zitao to tip his chin up to show the length of his neck, his gaze evaluative. ‘Fine. Goodnight, dage.’

  
  
  


Zitao is a special kind of trouble. Nothing involving external circumstance like what Minseok is used to experiencing. Zitao is six feet of spoiled rich brat that’s much too smart for his own good and wants what he wants without remorse.

  
  
  


So it goes. Minseok patiently tolerates parking tickets and DJ’ing and shopping escapades and yacht parties - as long as it isn’t _street racing_ or anything of that ilk.

Until Zitao realizes it’s not working, not _really_. So he loses patience, gets direct.

Waits until Minseok is knocking on his bedroom door at two in the afternoon before stepping inside to tell him he has an appointment, and suddenly there’s a fist flying into Minseok’s face.

Instinct kicks in: Minseok takes the punch to his cheek and drops down to sweep his leg out. He’s surprised when Zitao dodges and instead moves back, hands up in a defensive stance. Minseok recognizes it quickly enough as wushu.

‘You have my attention, Zitao,’ says Minseok, still feeling the sting over his cheekbone. He’d have to ice it.

‘Do I?’ Zitao asks with the same glint in his eye. He throws out a kick and Minseok dodges right, further into the spacious bedroom. To call it a bedroom seems like a stretch when it’s the size of a bachelor pad with the bed on the far side next to the en-suite bathroom, a TV and couch set up on the wall closest to the door.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Minseok asks, refusing to hit his own charge. That would definitely get him fired. Yet Zitao doesn’t stop - just shifts to the next stance and throws out another punch, another kick, watching as Minseok circles Zitao until he’s next to the couch.

‘You’ve been here for months, dage, and done nothing,’ says Zitao, his voice dripping sweetness even as he tips his head to the side, shoots out his arm to nail Minseok in the throat. ‘I don’t want you to get sloppy.’

‘ _Sloppy_?’ The jab at his skill has Minseok’s hackles rising even as he takes a defensive stance.

‘Aren’t you?’ Zitao steps back and grins. ‘You can’t even take me down.’

 _Stop making it sound so easy_ , Minseok wants to say. _I know you’ve won national competitions._ Yet his pride tightens around his throat, mutes his words. ‘Stop fooling around, Zitao.’

‘It’s okay if we break something,’ he replies. ‘I’ll just have father replace it for me.’ Zitao goes still, eyes narrowing. ‘Even you.’

His kick comes flying at Minseok’s head. Minseok moves: grabbing around Zitao’s leg and slamming his shoulder into Zitao’s gut to take him down onto the floor. As expected, Zitao does not give up - tries to tussle out of Minseok’s grip despite being winded. Except Minseok’s experienced in grappling; his short stature meant close-quarters combat was his specialty, and Zitao’s elegant wushu would not serve him while he was struggling against the lush carpet.

‘Stay down before I bruise your pretty face,’ snaps Minseok, slamming a forearm over Zitao’s sternum. ‘You brat.’

Zitao grins with all his teeth even as he hooks his legs around Minseok’s hips, brings their groins flush against each other. ‘Do it.’

 _Ah, of course_. And on the floor, cheeks flushed with struggling, eyes glinting and hair mussed - Zitao looks exactly how he wants to be seen: ruffled and ready to get fucked.

Minseok rolls his hips, and Zitao hisses under his breath. One of his hands is pinned to the carpet by Minseok’s grip. He relaxes - deliberate. ‘Dage.’

Logically, he should leave. It would be easy, too, but - there’s also the curiousity of what happens if he gives in. Zitao always gets what he wants and these antics wouldn’t stop unless Minseok gives him what he wants. But afterwards…

Zitao sucks in a breath, clenching his thighs around Minseok’s waist and rolling them over. Immediately, Minseok uses the momentum to throw Zitao off him and get back up on his feet. He should’ve expected all six feet of Zitao to lunge at him -

So Minseok does exactly what Zitao wants: ducks the initial punch, grabs around Zitao’s waist, and bodily throws Zitao onto his own bed, reveling in how Zitao yelps in surprise from the strength and agility.

‘Still think I’m sloppy?’ Minseok sneers, stalking towards the bed while undoing his belt. Teach the brat a lesson.

Zitao is on his back against the bed, staring at him wide-eyed, his pupils blooming black. The surprise melts under a wave of arousal when he realizes - ah yes, Minseok is giving in. Finally. _Finally_.

‘Are you going to put me in my place?’ Zitao taunts like his legs aren’t spreading apart, like his fingers aren’t curling into sheets in anticipation.

Undoing the cuffs, Minseok throws off his suit jacket. Then his tie. Zitao reaches forward to get to the buttons of Minseok’s perfectly-ironed shirt, but Minseok slides out his belt from his slacks to loop around Zitao’s wrists instead. ‘You want this? You do it my way.’

Instead of looking put-out, Zitao just smiles wider - cat-like and mischievous as he peeks up at Minseok from under his lashes while the belt goes around his wrists and tightens. Considering it’s a belt, Zitao could easily slip out of it if he tried, but Minseok understands the importance of its mere presence. A reminder for Zitao that Minseok can leave at any point. Leave him, leave Zitao _again_ so woefully unfulfilled.

Like any typical rich boy at two in the afternoon, Zitao is dressed down in a racerback tank and sweatpants because he has nowhere to go except the appointment he surely wants to miss.

‘You were supposed to go to mid-afternoon lunch with your friend Jongin,’ reminds Minseok as he wrenches Zitao’s sweatpants off his thighs, unsurprised at the lack of underwear.

‘He’s here in Beijing until next week,’ replies Zitao smoothly. ‘I’ll go tomorrow - unless I can’t move.’

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Minseok laughs, sliding his palms up along the inside of Zitao’s thighs, feeling the fine hair underneath his touch. Further up, Zitao’s cock hardens under Minseok’s gaze.

Despite his wrists being bound, Zitao manages to tip his head back and look down his nose in that typical haughtiness that comes with being given all that he wants. A part of Minseok wants to take it away from him. ‘You can find out if you want, dage. From the bedside dresser right over there.’

Minseok snorts but moves where directed. The first drawer has lube, a phone charger, and an anal plug because _of course_ , Zitao is shameless.

But it wouldn’t do to skip to fingering Zitao open already. Minseok was a gentleman with his partners, and not even a brat could make him forget his manners. He places the lube on top of a pillow and gets on the bed, hauling Zitao fully onto the mattress so he can lean down and kiss him.

Zitao clearly does not expect the gentleness. He makes a curious noise when Minseok nips at his lip and opens up easily, arching so Minseok will kiss him deeper, harder. Except it never comes - Minseok is patient. He kisses with teasing nips to Zitao’s bottom lip, leaving swipes of his tongue along the corners of Zitao’s pretty mouth to make Zitao whine at _not-enough_.

A warm palm settles over Zitao’s stomach, sliding under the tank so Minseok can feel the soft hair over his belly, the curve of lean muscle. Zitao is beautiful - and he knows it as he arches, his eyes closing and his mouth open in a soft cry, wanting Minseok to slip his tongue inside and taste his want.

Minseok is a tease, but he won’t deny himself either. He takes - kissing Zitao hard, just to feel the full-body shudder that runs through the body underneath him. Despite still being bound, Zitao’s hands come up to cling to Minseok’s shirt collar, not trying to undo it as much as anchor himself as feels Minseok’s tongue slip into his mouth and trace the edges of his teeth.

He does need to pull away to get the lube now. Zitao whines when Minseok breaks the kiss, his fingers still curled around the fabric of Minseok’s shirt.

‘You need to let go if you want more,’ murmurs Minseok, ever patient. Zitao breathes - once, twice - and obeys, stretching his arms above his head along the bed so his entire body is a beautifully arched country of golden skin, ready for Minseok to touch and take.

Between Zitao’s open thighs, Minseok slicks his fingers with lube and laughs under his breath when the first finger goes in smoothly.

Zitao rides down on the intrusion with the smallest grin. ‘You’d have had to come and wake me up eventually.’

‘So of course you prepared,’ says Minseok, a thread of admiration in his voice. Zitao’s tenacity to get what he wants might even be considered impressive. As a reward, Minseok slides in a second finger and crooks them along the rim, watches Zitao’s eyes flutter shut as he gasps. ‘That’s better.’

Zitao twists over the sheets as Minseok teases his hole open, gasping wetly against his shoulder when Minseok slides the pads of his fingers over his prostate. Between his thighs, Zitao’s cock is fully hard and starting to pearl at the tip as Minseok fucks his fingers inside of his hole, gets him stretched and open and ready.

It occurs to Minseok too late that he should have stripped himself before getting into bed with Zitao - but he doesn’t want to pull away just yet. There’s a delicious pain in feeling his cock get hard in his slacks, straining against the zip, as he watches Zitao twist and whine for more, all, ‘dage, c’mon, _please_.’

‘You’re begging now,’ says Minseok, fitting a third finger now with the help of more lube. His free hand - previously occupied with holding Zitao’s hip down - fists Zitao’s cock in a stroke, just to listen to Zitao choke on another moan. ‘I’ll fuck you if you don’t come until you’re told.’

Immediately, Zitao nods: ‘yes, dage, please, in me, please - ’

 _Shameless, greedy brat_ , thinks Minseok, fascinated. Wiping his hands clean on top of the covers, Minseok shoves the waistband of both his slacks and undershorts halfway down his thighs to lever his cock out. ‘Turn over, Zitao.’

The name holds command. Zitao’s eyes flutter as he rolls himself over in quiet obeisance. _No, not a brat_. Minseok palms Zitao’s ass, spreads him apart to look at his wet, used asshole, waiting for Minseok’s cock to push inside. _Something worse_.

He notches the cockhead against Zitao’s hole and starts to slide inside, feeling how the slick, wet heat envelops his dick so perfectly. Hissing under his breath, Minseok bottoms out in a smooth thrust, a thumb tracing how Zitao’s rim stretches out around the girth of his cock.

Underneath him, Zitao moans - loud and unabashed. Minseok leans forward, planting both his hands on the mattress on either side of Zitao’s torso, rolling his hips in a slow grind, savouring the tightness, feeling Zitao’s ass start to relax around his cock.

‘Ge - Min-ge,’ sighs out Zitao, his bound wrists still above his head and his fingers trying to grip the sheets. ‘Feels good.’

‘Yes,’ says Minseok, focused on the slow wave of pleasure as he slides in and out of Zitao bit by bit. He’s not teasing as much as simply enjoying the experience. Enjoying how Zitao’s asshole clutches at his cock, giving him a sweet drag of friction every time Minseok pulls out halfway, slides back inside with a roll of his hips.

It hasn’t even been a minute when Zitao begins to whine: ‘want _more_ , gege.’

‘No more dage?’ Minseok asks instead, keeping up his slow, steady pace. He’s keeping rhythm with his heart beat, steady like clockwork, and every time he slides all the way inside, Zitao’s breath hitches. A satisfying sound.

‘Dage,’ comes the immediate correction. ‘Dage, _please_ , more?’ Zitao is looking back over his shoulder, and his expression is so sweetly pleading with his wide eyes and brows drawn together, his mouth red and open as he moans every time Minseok fucks into him.

‘We haven’t even started yet,’ Minseok says, leaning down to grind his cock deep into Zitao’s ass, feel how Zitao clenches around him at the sudden crest of pleasure. ‘Patience.’

Zitao opens his mouth as if to argue, but Minseok snaps his hips suddenly, and all Zitao can do is choke on a moan, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels Minseok drag his cock in and out in deliberate slowness, angling his hips so that the rim catches along the underside of the length.

‘Dage,’ he exhales, sweet and soft, acquiescing to the rhythm now. It’s pretty - watching the muscles in Zitao’s back start to relax as if he’s finally decided to _listen_ to Minseok, to play by his rules. Minseok continues fucking him slow and steady, enjoying the pleasure seeping through his system, the warmth under his skin never abating but never building either.

It’s when Zitao’s gasping moans turn sharper that Minseok realizes Zitao is fully hard now, and the thrusts are making his cock jerk against the covers underneath him. Zitao’s lashes flutter open - as if he’s surprised by it as well - and Minseok wants to laugh. ‘Has no one ever taken their time with you, Zitao?’

‘No,’ says Zitao, his shoulders going tense. Minseok thrusts into him, dragging Zitao’s hips forward a bit, enough to jerk the underside of Zitao’s cock along the bed cover. Zitao mewls. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘No,’ says Minseok. His hand comes down to grip Zitao’s hip, pull upwards until Zitao’s knees are under him and his cock can’t rub against the bed anymore. ‘If you want to get off, you’ll get off like this.’

With his chest pressed to the mattress and knees underneath, his back in a perfect arch of submission, Zitao makes a confused noise as he looks up over his shoulder at Minseok. The moment he opens his mouth - to question, to protest - Minseok fucks his cock into Zitao’s hole at a new angle, a _perfect_ angle, that has Zitao suddenly yelling out: ‘ _Fuck_ \- !’

‘There we go,’ Minseok hums, driving his cock inside of Zitao’s tight hole over and over again, scraping against that sweet spot. This was a quicker pace now, one that wouldn’t let Zitao complain because he was too busy fisting the sheets with his bound hands, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure shot through his nerves white-hot and _good_.

‘Fuck, fuck, _please_ ,’ Zitao gasps, his ass tilted upwards as he welcomes each thrust. The sheen of sweat on his golden skin shimmers, makes him look that much more decadent for the taking, and Minseok won’t deny himself. ‘Feels so _good_ , oh fuck, fuck - ’

The rhythm is too quick to talk properly, but Minseok manages to laugh under his breath anyway. With his hands gripping Zitao’s hips now, keeping his ass in the air, each fuck has his cock grinding into the tight, hot clench of Zitao’s hole, feeling how every scrape against his prostate makes Zitao grip his length, unwilling to let Minseok pull out, push back inside.

It’s a delicious friction; almost too much if Minseok had been younger, less stubborn to prove his point. ‘You could come just like this, couldn’t you, Zitao?’ He asks, glad his voice stays steady.

Zitao nods, rolls his hips back to meet Minseok for a thrust, keening when he’s filled up just right. ‘Let me, let me, touch me, please - ’

‘Not yet.’ Minseok rails into him, groaning under his breath as Zitao’s ass milks his cock. ‘Not until I say so, remember?’

Zitao doesn’t reply. His wrists strain at the belt.

Minseok slams into him, grinds his cock deep. ‘Or else we stop, Zitao.’

The reminder jars Zitao out of his haze: ‘No, no, please, won’t come, I won’t, dage, please.’

‘Good,’ and it’s nothing in terms of praise, barely a compliment, yet Minseok watches in fascination at the unmistakable shudder that runs through Zitao’s frame from the word. ‘You’re going to be _good_ for me.’

Again, that clench of Zitao’s body around Minseok’s cock, how he shivers and nods. ‘Yes, dage.’

The shameless, wanting brat that Minseok has been trying to track for the past few weeks - finally obeying, finally submitting. The realization has Minseok’s cock kick and leak, getting everything even sloppier.

He fucks into Zitao’s perfect ass without stopping now. With the perfect angle and a pace that has Minseok able to fuck him steadily for minutes on end, Zitao’s cock is dripping precome all over the covers as he cries out wordlessly for more. Of course Zitao would be loud, desperate, his bound hands gripping the cover above his head as he tries to balance on his knees, ride back on Minseok’s dick with each thrust.

Zitao’s hole is tight and hot and wet, taking Minseok’s cock over and over again. Minseok almost wants to pull out - see how Zitao’s pretty little ass looks like stretched open and needing something inside of him oh-so-desperately. But that would mean stopping, and Minseok has no intention of giving Zitao a break as his prostate is worked over.

The pleasure rushes through Zitao with each fuck, has his spine arched so his ass is up in the air, the muscles in his back rippling with how _good_ it feels to get fucked by Minseok. The sight is enough for Minseok to feel pride, that he’s taking Zitao apart just like this - so simply, with a belt and his cock and his stamina.

His own orgasm is a slow-seeping heat, building in his balls with no real urgency. Minseok wants to keep watching, keep _listening_ to how Zitao is mewling from the back of his throat as Minseok’s cock drives deep into him. ‘I think you could come like this,’ he remarks, unashamed that by now his voice is just a little rougher around the edges.

Between Zitao’s thighs, his cock is hard and dripping. Zitao moans helplessly against the bed and nods, ‘wanna - wanna come - please, dage - ’

‘That’s not what I said,’ says Minseok. He grips Zitao’s hips tightly and wrenches him back so his cock drives in _deep_ into that perfect, hot hole. Zitao cries out, eyes squeezed shut. ‘I want you to come on my dick. Come without touching yourself at all.’

It takes half a dozen thrusts for Zitao to nod, his eyes blinking back the arousal, as he hiccups through his moans, ‘yes - please.’

‘Good, Zitao,’ says Minseok, unbidden, surprised at himself for wanting to tell him so. One of his hands slides from Zitao’s hip and across the plane of his back, feeling the muscle shift under his touch as Minseok continues to fuck him. ‘So good for me.’

Zitao closes his eyes and mewls, sweet and giving, as he melts further into the bed, his spine arching under Minseok’s touch so his ass is tipped upwards further, angling for Minseok’s cock to ream into him that much deeper. ‘ _Dage_.’

The submission shoots a bolt of arousal through Minseok’s spine, has his orgasm pressing sudden and sharp in the back of his mind as he continues driving into Zitao’s hot ass. ‘Fuck - I’m going to make you come.’

With that, Minseok gives up on pacing himself. Shifting his weight on his knees, he grips Zitao’s hips and _fucks_ him. Pounds his cock into Zitao’s clenching asshole as Zitao cries out underneath him, completely unprepared for the sudden onslaught.

‘D-Dage, fuck - ’ chokes out Zitao, eyes wide and gasping, his fingernails dragging loudly over the covers as he tries to anchor himself. Each relentless fuck has his cock slapping wetly against his abdomen, continuing to leak, and Minseok knows Zitao won’t be able to stand this much friction along his asshole for much longer.

So he uses Zitao - chases his own end, amping up the pace so that his body can’t deny the hot clutch of Zitao’s asshole around his cock, how Zitao is so fucking tight around him, milking his dick every time Minseok reams him.

It’s enough for Minseok to hear himself start to groan under his breath, his own end getting closer. Underneath him, Zitao’s eyes are shut, his lashes damp with sweat and tears as he holds on and takes it. ‘Gonna - c-come - _dage_ , _please_ \- !’

‘C’mon, Zitao, show me, show dage,’ grits out Minseok, trying to keep his voice even, despite the fact that he’s fucking Zitao face first into the mattress without apology.

There’s no more warnings after that. Zitao tries valiantly to push back onto Minseok’s cock, match rhythm, but gives up and gives in to Minseok’s grip on his hips that are slamming his ass back onto Minseok’s dick again and again. All Zitao can do now is lie face down against the bed and take it, until he’s crying out, his entire body shuddering and tightening up as the pleasure builds and snaps in his gut.

His orgasm rides through him plain to see - Minseok watches the aftershocks make Zitao’s entire body tighten and relax as his cock shoots ropes of come one after another all over the covers.

Minseok fucks through the sudden tightness of Zitao’s asshole, forcing his dick along the hot clutch of Zitao’s insides and savouring that heated friction even _more_ , to the point where even Minseok could consider it _too much_.

‘Shit,’ he groans, his own orgasm hot in his balls after watching Zitao do just as told, and the way he was milking Minseok’s cock all the way through it.

Leaning over Zitao, Minseok jerks his hips _hard_ against Zitao’s ass, panting as he finally lets himself go - allowing his own orgasm to finally flood through him in a blissful white haze. In hindsight, he should’ve asked if Zitao wanted to be pumped full of spunk, but Minseok’s lucky: Zitao tightens his hole when he feels Minseok start to fill him up, letting out quiet, encouraging mewls until Minseok’s balls empty out inside of Zitao’s asshole.

It takes a moment for Minseok to come down from the high. He apologetically rubs the bruises his hands have left over Zitao’s hips and pulls out, wincing at how Zitao’s red, used hole is already leaking white.

Zitao wavers between falling flat onto his stomach or tipping onto his side. With a slight nudge to Zitao’s thigh, Minseok has Zitao collapsing onto his side, avoiding the puddle of his own come. He reaches up and undoes the belt as well, glad to see that Zitao’s wrists are only chafed red.

‘Good?’ Minseok asks, looking down at Zitao while he tucks his cock back into his pants and starts to slide his belt through the belt loops. Sex had made his work suit start to stick to his skin from the sweat; he’d need a shower soon.

Underneath him, Zitao nods, struggling to open his eyes. ‘Dage,’ he whines, reaching out with one hand.

Minseok takes it, entwines their fingers, fascinated by Zitao’s soft edges, his lingering submission. _Not a shameless, greedy brat at all_ -

‘What’s that, Zitao?’

Shivering and arching into a stretch, Zitao finally manages a half-squint and squeezes Minseok’s fingers between his own. ‘Was I good?’

\- _but someone looking for a chance to bite_.

Minseok barks out a laugh. ‘Yes.’ He tips his head to the side. ‘But I think you could be better.’

Now, Zitao grins, toothy and mischievous and eager, and Minseok thinks he finally understands _trouble_.

-

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


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